Last Wishes, Last Regrets
by infiniteworld8
Summary: Leonard McCoy is in the prime of his life, a family, a career, a life others could only dream about...at least that's the facade people see. Behind that disguise he's waging a personal war on numerous fronts. When tradegy strikes it's a catalyst that brings everything crashing down and there's no stopping the slow spiral into darkness.
1. Chapter 1

"How's everything coming?"

Leonard McCoy glanced over at his father's question. He was unsure how to answer. David McCoy's question wasn't as innocent as it seemed. Every conversation with David McCoy from casual remarks to a passerby to seemingly innocent questions about his son's life was a intended for one thing: to find out if the person in question measured up to his own impossibly high standards.

Leonard McCoy was well aware he never did. He could tell his father of how he had saved three children in a air skimmer accident and the accomplishment he had felt as he had seen the children a month later leaving the hospital after undergoing extensive neuro regen. But he knew his father would have just countered with a more extensive recount about one of his own success stories.

He could have told his father of how he had made one mistake; one mistake that he was sure had been the difference between life and death. However, David McCoy would have been sure to tell him how in a similar situation he had made a difference choice and saved the patient.

He could have told his father how he had stayed up late staring at the ceiling as Jocelyn lay angrily turned away ignoring him. All he would have got for his troubles was his father's recounts on what he had done wrong and how he should have never married Jocelyn anyway.

Nothing he ever did was good enough.

He had heard the comments that were made to his own sister and mother about how he was a good person but was made to be a follower not a leader. It hurt to know his own father had no confidence in him as a person.

Every choice was always wrong but McCoy was determined to prove him wrong. He turned to the older man and said. "Fine."

His father, David McCoy, raised an eyebrow and asked. "Really? How is Jocelyn?" McCoy stuck his hands in his pockets at his father's question. He couldn't help like feel the question wasn't really a question but an interrogation.

It was always like that…it had always been like that with his father. He was Leonard McCoy, his only son. His pride and joy and also his life's biggest screw-up. He wasn't good enough ever. He had seen it when he finished medical school and chose to work on a volunteer aide crew rather than taking a prestigious position at Emory University Medical Centre in Atlanta like his father had practically planned for him to have since birth. He had seen in when instead of specializing he had chosen general medicine….he had seen it in every goddamn look since he was born.

He was never good enough…He would never be good enough.

His father, David McCoy wasn't asking how Jocelyn was doing; he was asking what else had his son managed to screw up in his marriage. Their late night spats and daytime silences were clear indicators to anybody that could see.

And David McCoy saw all.

And he judged all.

Except himself.

McCoy found it sick irony that while he spent extra time at the hospital saving lives and helping others his own wife thought he was off claiming glory and even more importantly sleeping with the staff. It was a sick contrast to the way his own mother thought her husband was the epitome of a god and his father had been lying through his teeth and sleeping with more people than an Orion whore.

"Jocelyn is fine. We were going through a rough patch but things are a lot better."

His father looked like he wanted to say something else but the words died off as a spasm of pain crossed his face and then abruptly his legs gave out.

McCoy caught his father just before he hit the ground.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine."

McCoy wasn't so sure. His father's face was gray and while the expression of pain was fading it was still there. His father was already trying to get his feet and shaking as he did so. McCoy tried to help him. "I said I'm fine , get your damn hands off me."

McCoy moved back allowing his father to regain his balance slowly, painfully on his own and he catalogued every moment.

They resumed walking and the older McCoy cleared his throat. "It was a muscle spasm, damn old age."

It was a lie and they both knew it. His father continued trying to regain the thread of the conversation. "So about your wife…when's that grandchild of mine coming along? "

He automatically stiffened at that comment. The words were pointed and intentionally mentioned to take the focus off his sudden collapse. McCoy knew his father was well aware of the sore point he had hit. It was no secret to everybody that knew Jocelyn was vehemently against having a child now and at any point in the near future. McCoy also knew that his father was well aware that his son would have liked to start a family and the resulting argument from the differing wants was the cause of many arguments.

McCoy forced himself to respond, but it was with a thin veneer of civility and a thick façade of lies.

McCoy's personal life wasn't fine and his father wasn't either.

But they would never admit it.

McCoy's were made that way, too stubborn for their own good.

XXXX XXXX

McCoy found out a few months later ,just what his father was trying to keep hidden, in what was arguably the worse way possible. He had been getting strange looks from what felt like half the staff at the hospital for the past few weeks and had even gotten a few anonymous condolence holocards.

 _"Dr. McCoy our prayers are with you and your family."_

 _"Best wishes for a recovery"_

It was weird but a first he thought it was a prank. Then he figured that maybe hospital scuttlebutt merely had it wrong and he had become the victim of a rumour of some terminal illness. Assurances that he was fine didn't seem to help and earned him some brief smiles that quickly turned to pitying looks when he wasn't looking.

He was in the cafeteria getting a quick bite to eat before he had to be back to work when Reedus, the head Neuro doctor caught him as he was navigating to a table. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I know they're making advances all the time.—"

McCoy had had enough. He set his tray down unnecessarily hard at the cafeteria table and turned back to the man raising his voice. " _What_ are you talking about?"

Reedus coloured a little. "I just wanted to let you know that everybody is–"

"Who the hell are you talking about? Is this some joke everybody's in? Because—"

The cafeteria had fallen silent at his outburst. Some of the staff looked genuinely puzzled but he saw others here and there who were glancing away from him with those same goddamn pitying looks.

Reedus cut in, apologetically now looking like he didn't know what to do. "You—you don't know?"

"Don't know what?"

"I really can't tell you. I thought you would know. I t—"

"You listen to me. Whatever is going on I want an answer now and—"

McCoy broke off as his comm beeped. He tried to continue talking but the noise interrupted again. McCoy snatched the comm up still glaring at Reedus as the man used the opportunity to walk away. He was inwardly swearing as he irritably answered.

"What?"

"Is this Dr. Leonard H. McCoy?"

"Speaking."

"This is Kyle, a nurse the Emergency Department in Atlanta General. You were listed as a emergency contact. I'm calling to let you know…."

The rest of the words seemed to fade in and out as McCoy listened. "…had passed out and nearly stopped breathing...incoherent…critical condition…"

McCoy clicked the comm shut and stared around the cafeteria. He knew what the whispers, the looks, the comments, the goddamn cards were all about.

It made sense really…of course everybody would know before him. Of course his father was ill and he was the last to know.

Because that's what McCoy's did. Because that's what David McCoy did. Everybody was more important and more deserving then his own son until it was time to pick up the pieces. Then whatever messed up situation his father had created would become his fault and his responsibility and like the dutiful son he was he would assume it.

And that what he was going to do now.

XXXX XXXX

McCoy got to the other hospital in record time. The Emergency room was bustling with activity, McCoy sidestepped a Denobulan guard, ignored the indignant tones of a harried triage nurse and walked back through the sliding doors. He found the doctor in charge and it only took him a few seconds to convince her that he was going to see his father right then and right there visiting policies be damned

"He's breathing on his own, that's a great sign and he's talking now. He had a small infarct. We re-vascularised the area as soon as it was found and a regen shot was given so…"

McCoy cut through the technical medicalese with one question. It was really the most important. Everything that was happening now was really just a symptom of the larger issue ."What's the diagnosis?"

"Well obviously the infarct, pneumonia—"

"Cut the crap. Did he tell you not to tell me? " McCoy stared down at the woman and added. "Because if he did I don't give a damn what he wants to keep secret."

The doctor frowned. "Dr. McCoy surely you of all people know that a patient has a right to privacy and—confidentiality is—"

McCoy was practically shaking with anger but he forced his voice to stay steady. "I don't care what he wants to keep confidential. I'm named as his medical secondary…right now he's not capable of making decisions for himself due to his neuro status and the meds you have him which means I'm responsible."

The doctor was looking nervous now but McCoy continued. "That also means I'm the one responsible for picking up the pieces of this fucking shit-storm like always so what he wants to keep secret is the least of my worries."

"You might want to sit down."

"And I might want to stand."

Once again the woman hesitated then began. "The disease is still in its early stages and –"

McCoy swallowed at that. If the early stages were this bad then the later stages…well he wasn't even going to think about that. "Is it Xenopolycythemia?" He knew from their familial gene study that they had a strong likelihood of contracting it in his family…

"No, not that…It's, Pyrroneurits."

She continued talking, about disease course, and treatments and McCoy ignored her. He knew about the disease. It was one of the illnesses that still plagued countless people. Millions of other ailments that had once killed billions had been cure but there was still some that remained.

A long-painful death was in store for his father and there was nothing that he could do about it. His body would shut down, his every nerve would be on fire, taste, sight, smell, every sense would go, his breathing would become difficult and then his heart would stop but only after everything was destroyed. It was a miserable, awful way to die.

The doctor fell silent realizing he didn't want to hear her. McCoy leaned over his father watching as he struggled to breathe. This was just an exacerbation of the disease, it would flare up and die down before it finally left him too weak to do anything but just die

David McCoy's eyes opened as he neared. "They—called—you—" Each word was a strain but McCoy could see him forcing himself to speak "You—know—then?"

"Yeah, dad…I know."

"I don't—want—your mother or—sister to—know." He gasped.

McCoy shook his head; it was bad enough keeping all the secrets he had for his father over the years. But this was one he wasn't going to be complicit in keeping. It was more than his sister and mother deserving to know, telling was something he had to do for himself. The secrets were becoming too much, and when they eventually found out and he hadn't told he would be disgusted with himself. At least more so than he already was.

"Please—" McCoy heard his father plead, but he turned around walking out the room and pretending he hadn't. He could hear the sound of his sister Donna and his mother as they tried to find out what was happening.

"Len, there you are. "

His sister immediately turned to him as he came out. The nurse she had been harassing looked grateful for his interruption and used the opportunity to hurry off before the interrogation could continue.

"Somebody said Dad, had got sent to the hospital, and we called his comm and he didn't answer and—" Donna's words were tumbling over each other.

His mother wasn't speaking but she was watching him with sad eyes and grim lips. He suspected she already knew some of what he was about to tell her.

He cleared his throat trying to get his bearings. "Let's sit down"

The activity of the ER seemed to fade away as they retired to a waiting room and he began to tell them. There was the predictable crying, the questions, the hopes, the expected ramblings . He had seen the same with every fatal diagnosis he had shared with families. The only difference was this was his family.

This was his father.

He wasn't telling somebody who in a few hours he wouldn't have to deal with again. He wasn't telling somebody who would have to go home and figure out how to deal with everything.

He was the one who would have to deal with everything. He was the one that would be in charge.

Because he was the medical expert in the family.

Because he was the oldest.

Because it was his responsibility.


	2. Chapter 2

Things were pretty much the same…except they really weren't. David McCoy deteriorated quickly, in less than two months after being in the hospital he was forced to resign from his position at the hospital due to his poor health. He could barely walk, speech was a hit or miss most days and his other faculties were slowly failing.

Leonard convinced Jocelyn they should move in with his parents. Donna was too busy finishing school and being a newlywed to help as much as she would have liked. His father staunchly had refused every potential caregiver they had hired and so without family help Eleanora McCoy would be left to bear the burden of his care alone.

The move was one cause of the tension between him and Jocelyn that was only seeming to get worse as the months went by. The other reason was Jocelyn was pregnant…and thoroughly pissed about it. She claimed it was his fault for coming home one night and guilting her into unprotected pity sex by …her words not his.

In addition, things at work were worse. The whole hospital seemed to be expecting him to fill his father's shoes…or maybe that was just his imagination. Now that his father was out of the picture, he felt administration and his fellow colleagues were waiting for him to jump up and be the big hotshot his father was…they didn't understand his heart wasn't in it. He was in medicine for the people not the prestige.

He finally resigned from his regular position and moved to a hospital a few towns away. The position as an ER doc was smaller than the job he had before but the hospital had a better research department. He had a research background and it was easy to persuade the department director for Neuro studies to let him start his own side project.

Never mind that countless of scientists had were working on solving the medical catastrophe that was pyrroneurits, he had to work on it himself. He had to solve this issue. He had to fix this problem.

There was really no solving any of the situations he was in, his marriage, his career, his life. It was eating away at him inside. Each person he couldn't save was a personal failure. Each time Jocelyn yelled at him about how he was a bad husband stung. Each time he didn't find a way to save his father he felt a little piece of himself dying too.

It was easy to fall into habits he had sworn he would never let himself embrace. Bourbon, Whiskey, Brandy, Beer, it didn't matter the kind of liquor; it all took the sting out of his failures. The burning scorch of liquor tracing its way down his throat seemed to burn away the agony searing his soul.

He yelled back to Jocelyn. He stormed out when his father started at him. He swore at staff where he worked. And it felt good to get some release, like a little smoke being let off from a release valve. But inside the storm was still brewing as harsh as ever.

By the time, his beautiful baby girl, Joanna McCoy, was born, his own father had taken a turn for the worse. He was in and out of the hospital too many times to count. New life had come and death seemed sure to follow. McCoy could feel time running out.

He spent longer hours at the research lab, longer shifts at the ER when even the research lab became too much, and longer time away from his family. Jocelyn rightfully accused him of neglect, and wrongfully accused him of an affair. She didn't seem to realize the only thing he was developing an intimate relationship was a bottle of liquor and a tumbler.

The doctors were talking about his father declaring a Decline Resuscitation…and David McCoy refused to even listen when the conversation would start. Rationally, McCoy knew his father was aware of why it would be a good idea…modern medicine could keep you alive long past the time it would be best to die. But McCoy also knew his father would never agree to sign a DR pride barred his way. To sign saying he didn't want to be brought back was to openly admit defeat, it was to let the whole world see that David McCoy wasn't a larger than life invincible image like he would have people believe.

He had to keep outward appearances up even when he was inwardly wanting release. The hints started at first. Talk about the patient's who had chosen to end it on their turns rather than wait to die...discussions of ethics…his declining prognosis.

McCoy got the implied request and he couldn't bring himself to do as his father wanted. It wasn't only because to do so would once again mean he had failed…there was another reason that he was too ashamed to even think let alone admit.

He wanted his father to die.

He wanted this all to be over.

No more lies.

No more expectations he couldn't live up to.

No more trying to live his life to please someone else.

And he felt sick for even thinking those thoughts.

It was another bad day at work, a fruitless day at the lab, and a horrible day at home. A whole family had died after an Air skimmer crash. He hadn't been able to save even one…three kids ,two adults…all dead. Once again a new gene therapy he had been trying out had failed in the prelim stages…and to cap it all off Joanna had an ear infection and Jocelyn was pissed at having to deal with it when as she said "He was the one who wanted a kid."

McCoy wasn't sure what drove him to visit his father. Maybe the same sort of self flagellation he had always endured. Punishing himself because he should have been able to fix this all and he couldn't.

At this point it was a precarious mixture of coffee and whiskey keeping him upright and semi coherent. McCoy carefully walked into the hospital, each step was like he was marching to his own funeral. Nurses walked past him still busy late into the night with patient's that couldn't sleep and the never-ending pile of tasks that every medical personnel knew never disappeared. They nodded at him, nobody moved to block his path or asked where he was going as he neared the unit where his father was

As he walked to the room, he passed the nurses' station. The nurses quietly watching vitals monitors , smiled at him and one or two spoke. He answered-he was almost positive he did but he couldn't remember what he had said. He froze in front of his father's door but even that didn't stop him, the door slid open with a quiet hiss and he carefully regarded the wasted, pained fatigued man lying in the bed.

He stepped over the threshold and the door closed behind him. He walked over to his father's bedside and stared down at him. He was sleeping, but fitfully. His breath was gasping and his face was still drawn even though he had a continuous drip of analgesics being hypoed into his arm. Now that he was here he couldn't do it, he couldn't give the hypos to his own father. He had done the same for other patients, he had let them die on their own terms and not victims of crippling disease but he couldn't do it now that it was his own father. And why had his father asked him? Why when he could have asked any of the other physicians? Why did he want his own son to be the one to end it?

McCoy couldn't help feeling it was one last test. He knew his father didn't want anybody else to know he had chosen this way out. He knew his father had always regarded patients who chose to leave on their own terms as weak, and now that he was finally choosing the same route. He still was holding fast to his ideology even if only by appearance, but McCoy couldn't help feel that the request coming was more about a personal challenge to his son than anything else. McCoy knew this was one last test he would fail.

He sank into a chair by his father's bed and put his hands over his face. He was exhausted emotionally and physically.

"Leonard?"

McCoy looked up at the weak voice as it gasped out his name. he stared directly into the older man's eyes and saw the silent plea in them. He saw the pain tugging at his features and he froze. His father stared at him and McCoy couldn't break away from his gaze. His father was too proud to beg, at least verbally but his eyes pleaded for release. McCoy wrenched his own eye away from the gaze. He had prepared the medications, he had checked the dosages, it would appear as though his father had drifted off, nobody would know the truth. Nobody would blame him, but he would blame himself. He would always know what he had done.

"Leonard." The voice gasped again weaker, this time but still as insistent. McCoy forced himself to turn back to his father, and this time he spoke. "Dad."

McCoy's father didn't speak in acknowledgement, all that could be heard was laboured breath. Finally when he did it wasn't the words McCoy had expected to hear. "How's your mother and sister?"

"They're-" McCoy paused he wasn't sure what to say. He couldn't tell his father how he had to hold them both as they had cried after visiting the wasted man who had once been a father and a husband. He couldn't tell his father how the burden of each decision had fallen to him because he was the doctor, and now he was the man in the family. He didn't tell him how Jocelyn had grown even more ill-tempered as he had even less time in his already over-fill schedule to spend with her and the new baby.

Or he could lie…and that was the route they always seemed to take. So he said "They're...Okay."

McCoy's father nodded and then his body was wracked by a coughing spasm and he turned bright red for a moment. McCoy was already reaching up to turn up the oxygen level on the respirator his father had fastened to his face, but a nurse quickly walked into the room, so noiselessly McCoy didn't hear her. He watched with an air of surrealness as she skilfully adjusted dials and various hypo drips and the vital monitor stabilised. Then with a reassuring words to McCoy's father and a nod at McCoy she left. "I'll give you two sometime alone, if you need anything just call."

Neither male spoke finally McCoy's father asked. "How's Joanna?"

"She's sitting up now. She stays up half the night, though I've noticed if you take her outside, she falls asleep faster. Mom said that's what you used to do when I was younger."

The older man smiled slightly and in a raspy voice said "That's the only way I could get you to go asleep. You always seemed like you thought you were missing out on something."

"Well , I was . When you're asleep everything passes you by." McCoy muttered quietly.

His father was quiet then he said, "I never thought about it like that..." He coughed again this time his body was wracked by spasms so hard it took him several minutes for his breath to return. When he finally was able to speak his words were so pained it was like every word was agony.

"Sleep would be a blessing right now, but—I feel like all my nerves are on fire." McCoy's father paused to catch his breath and then continued. "I always expected it would be something different—something quick—not this—this lingering. I was a doctor for decades-I saved so many people and now this is how I go."

McCoy shifted uncomfortably. "Dad, don't say that. Something could happen , they find cures for things everyday –and"

A harsh half-chuckle sliced through McCoy's words as his father spoke. "You're deluding yourself, Len... You and I both know what happens. First every nerve in your body begins to breakdown, the pain is...incredible... eventually you can't walk... then you can't talk...you soil yourself...your lungs shut down and still they can keep you alive on machines...until your brain finally breaks down enough for you to die...Months to die...months of pain and humiliation...maybe years."

McCoy crossed to the window and refused to look at his father. He stared at the moon and tried to forget the horrific images his father had conjured up of people dying from Pyrroneurits.

The next words were like a whisper. "I just want to sleep Len... you can understand that right?"

McCoy turned back, "You have a family." He struggled to get the next words out. " Donna just got married. Me and Jocelyn just had a child."

His father didn't speak but McCoy continued. He moved closer and his voice was louder. "You can't just give up! You can't just throw in the towel. You can't just leave because it's easier. What about Donna, Mom? What about any of us?"

"Leonard—"

McCoy ignored the words. "Do you realize what you want me to do! Ask someone else. Sign a decline resuscitation form, ask about PAS"

" I don't want to ask someone else, I don't want anyone else knowing. "

"Why because then,. They would know tough—as—nails doctor McCoy isn't that tough. Finally somebody would see the real you! You never were what you wanted everybody to believe you were, always needed something to take the sting out of things, liquor, women—"

" You don't know what this is like—"

"No, maybe I don't but if I'm ever in the same position I wouldn't be like you."

McCoy's father's eye blazed with anger. He pushed himself up with newfound strength that anger had given him. " You wouldn't be like me because you can't."

"Why, because I'm weak?" When his father didn't speak McCoy continued. "Just say it, you've always wanted to. I'm weak, I can't do it. That's what everybody thinks, Leonard H. McCoy always doomed to live in his father shadow." McCoy laughed bitterly. "But I proved them wrong, I graduated, I'm a doctor. I have a family, I not the one always trying to run away."

"I didn't run."

"You never faced anything either. Everything has to be swept under a rug, lie upon lie. You want me to do this because if I'm the one to kill you, that shifts all the responsibility off you. That's all you've ever cared about. " McCoy face was bright red as he glared at his father. "I never was good enough for you except at keeping your secrets. The nurses from work that you had lunch with all throughout my elementary school, the bottles of gin you hid from mom, the late night hospital calls you got" McCoy was nearly yelling he was surprised the nurses hadn't came, but the next words he spoke were soft, they were steeped in guilt. "Why David died."

McCoy's father had turned a deep red at the first three accusations but the last statement drained the colour from his face. "That –that boy's death wasn't my fault."

"No it was mine wasn't it. That's what you wanted me to believe, that's what you wanted everybody else to think—then your secret was safe."

"Leave me alone" McCoy father collapsed back to his pillows and his breaths came in harsh pants, but the younger McCoy refused to be silent.

His voice was coated in anger. "I'm not the reason, a group of kids had access to an entire shitload of liquor. Where were the adults that day? Where was my own goddamn father?"

McCoy laughed bitterly. "I'll tell you where he was , he was busy holed up in the boathouse banging the nurse he invited and getting so fucking drunk that he couldn't watch his own nieces and nephews let alone his own son."

"You knew better than to touch that liquor."

"Yeah, I did I was seven and I knew but I also knew I should clean my room and brush my teeth and mom still had to make me do those things. So when some of the older ones asked me for the key of course I gave it to them, finally somebody was paying attention to me."

"That wasn't—"

"Almost all the kids were shit—faced but me and David especially and you weren't paying any attention. Can we go build a raft in the middle of a fucking lake? Sure, just don't get between you and your bottle right? Twelve half-drunk kids piling on a raft the size of a kitchen mat? No big deal, just be quiet so you can get drunk and fucked in peace huh?"

"Leonard stop..."

But McCoy couldn't stop. "Then some of the kids fall in the water? No big deal, until 10 minutes you finally realise two of us are missing. I nearly drowned , David did and you acted like none of it was your responsibility. I gave the key, I horsed around and pushed David, I did it. You're secret is safe."

"I stopped Leonard, can't you forgive."

"Can't I forgive , being blamed for killing my own cousin? Can't I forgive you always bringing me into your lies and secrets? No I can't."

"Please, Len, stop."

"You stop, stop with the lies , the secrets. I'm done. I'm not doing what you asked. Call me weak , call me whatever you want but I'm done."

"Please."

"I'M NOT KILLING YOU!" The shout reverberated in the air. Both father and son stared at each other. Now that the words were spoken they McCoy felt tainted. Seconds passed and the door to the room slid open.

A nurse slipped inside. "I heard a shout and—" She faltered as she sensed the tension between the two males but neither was looking at her.

"I'm done Dad, I'm done with secrets, I'm done with doing you dirty work." Then he walked out the room pass the startled nurse and ignoring the raspy breath of his own father. Anger surged through his body, he felt ashamed at what he had said, and yet he was still angry because although the words were motivated by anger he meant them.

He caught a air skimmer home and by the time he reached his house a slow rain was trickling down. He slowly walked up the pathway to a house that was as familiar to him as the back of his hand. It was his childhood home, He and Jocelyn were staying with his mother to help out. The old farmhouse was usually a welcome sight but all it reminded him of at the moment was memoires he would rather forget. Guilt was rapidly displacing his anger leaving, nothing but a cold feeling behind.

A light drizzle of rain started to fall, McCoy froze as the liquid tumbled down, It came slowly at first then in a thickening cascade, he stood perfectly still as the cool liquid soaked his clothes, until he was dripping. As it slowed the drips on his clothes ceased from a steady flow, he felt drained. He continued up into the house, pausing only to leave his muddy shoes on the back porch. Then he slowly walked through the dark house to where he and Jocelyn were staying in one of the guest bedroom.

Without bothering to turn on the bathroom light he changed out of his dirty wet clothes and took a hot shower. He slowly dressed in clean clothes and then navigated a careful way through the darkened room to his bed. Jocelyn was already fast asleep , he stared at her dark outline for several seconds before he climbed into bed beside her. His movement awoke her, "Leonard" she whispered uncertainly.

"Yeah, it's me." He said quietly. He wondered did his voice sound as dull as he felt.

"It's 3 in the morning, you said your shift was over at 9 last night," Jocelyn said, her tone clearly demanded an answer.

McCoy didn't speak. A light flickered on. Jocelyn blinked and dimmed the light slightly then turned to McCoy. "Where were you?"

McCoy didn't miss the slight accusatory tone, but he didn't answer still. Jocelyn continued staring at him then she asked. "What happened? Something's wrong."

"I had some extra stuff to do. Nothing's wrong."

"Yes, there is."

"Nothings' wrong." McCoy repeated, when Jocelyn began to speak he pulled he reached over and flicked out the light and muttered, "Leave me alone, I told you I had some extra work."

"Extra work that keeps you over 6 hours past shift?" McCoy didn't answer so Jocelyn continued. "Len, you don't come into the house and—"

McCoy turned back in her direction even though he couldn't see her in the dark. "Shut up and leave me the hell alone."

He heard the abrupt silence that was his response and felt Jocelyn tuck the blanket between them as she moved away from him. There was nothing but silence now, silence and memories. Jocelyn's quiet breathing soon came back, but McCoy couldn't fall asleep. Images of his father lying gaunt and dying alternated with memories of patients he had loss and of the first death he had ever witnessed. The memory was blurry, time and circumstances had taken the finer details. However, the ghost-white face and blue lips of a boy only a little older than him as water dripped from his soaked clothes and frantic people tried to coax life back into his body tormented him.

He was unaware he had fallen asleep, until a cry that was his own awoke him. His heart was hammering in his chest and his breaths were gasps.

"I'm not going to get any sleep tonight." He muttered to himself. "I don't deserve it anyway." The last few words were almost silent but they evoked a response.

"No, you don't not after what you've said and done. " Jocelyn shifted slightly and he saw dimly in the dark that she was watching him.

"You're awake?"

"I've been awake since you started moving around and kicked me."

"Sorry." McCoy mumbled.

"Oh so now you're sorry for kicking me but you can't apologize for telling me to shut the hell up?"

"Let's not start this today, I'm tired and—"

"I'm not the one who started this .First you come in hours late, then—"

"I'm sorry about that."

"You're sorry? How many times have you told me that? Too, damn many. I made dinner and waited for you for hours and you couldn't even give me a call and tell me where you were?" Jocelyn voice had risen slightly. "Today was our anniversary Len, or did you forget?"

"I'll make it up to you—"

"I'd be rich for all the times I've heard that from you." Jocelyn sat up. "I'll make it up. This was just one time. Next time I promise... What don't you just admit you stayed at that precious job helping people and didn't have time to come consort with us mere mortals, I'm sure Joanna and I will understand." Jocelyn's voice had risen to the point where McCoy was seriously worried about her awakening the other occupants in the house, particularly Joanna who was in a crib in the corner of the room.

"Shh, Jocelyn before you wake Joanna." McCoy muttered tiredly.

"Oh, now you care about her? She wasn't so important tonight when you were off trying to make medical history."

"I wasn't working those extra hours tonight." McCoy finally said. He tried not to think about what he had been doing those hours. He tried not to remember drinking himself into some sort of partial apathy at yet another attempt to fix the pile of problems that his life was quickly becoming. He didn't want to recall the tortured pain on his father's face as his own son had said awful things about him.

"You weren't working?" Jocelyn sounded confused, and then her voice turned accusing. "Then where were you. It was six hours and—"

"I was at the hospital."

She snorted. " I could have guessed that one. Your usual—"

McCoy cut her off loudly. "I was visiting my fucking father."

Jocelyn broke off with "oh." She didn't speak then he felt her hand on his shoulder and heard . "Well, how is he."

"The same." The same, dying , miserable, in pain, with a son who could help him but didn't have the courage to do so. McCoy bit tried to curb the thought and instead focused on Jocelyn's next words.

"I'm sorry Len, I would have gone with you, if I had known, but—"

"It's okay, he was –-he was out of it…mostly."

"Do you want to talk?"

McCoy didn't answer and after several silent minutes he felt Jocelyn lay back down. He knew that she would fall asleep soon, but he couldn't sleep. He was dead tired but he couldn't forget. He couldn't forget what he had said, or what he couldn't bring himself to do.

Jocelyn's breaths were more even now, McCoy moved closer to her wishing he could gain some of her calm. In the dark he moved a hand to her hair and traced the line of her neck with his finer. She murmured something sleepily and turned towards him. He leaned his forehead against hers and then abruptly kissed her lips.

He felt anger, guilt, fear rising in him like a beast he could not control. He wanted to tear and rent. He wanted to do anything to release the pent up memories tugging at his soul.

 _Cold blue lips…water trailing down ghost-white cheeks and panicked adults jostling him….his cousin's sightless eyes staring accusingly._

He kissed Jocelyn again, this time hungrily.

 _Peeking past a wood plank…. A woman with too red lips and half her clothes off whispering to his Dad. "When are you going to tell your wife about us Dr. McCoy?"_

She awoke and started to speak but he stilled the words with another kiss.

 _"Hide these bottles for me kiddo."_

He slid one of his hands to sleep down to the small of her back bringing her closer, his fingers tugged at her nightgown. He pushed her flat on her back.

Leo, where's the key?

He vaguely heard Jocelyn protest but he couldn't stop. She pushed him away at first but her attempts grew more halfhearted. , then her arms were around his neck and her body pressed against his. He slid on top of her, as his fingers undid the last buttons on her gown. They were both trembling. Her bare skin was cold against his, but his skin felt like it was on fire.

He slid in ignoring Jocelyn's gasp of suprise. He was in control. He wasn't weak…he could do this.

He was in control. Jocelyn tried to move against him and match his rhythm but he grabbed her wrists holding them down, this wasn't about pleasing her. This was taking not giving like he had been doing his whole life.

It was selfish and one-sided but it was what he needed. Hard, fast and the release he craved.

Minutes later when he finally pulled away, he felt numb. He laid on his back and stared at the ceiling in the early-morning light, Jocelyn's head was pillowed on his chest.

He thought she had fallen asleep until he heard he whisper. "Len, what's wrong. Are you okay?"

Silence stretched out in answer to the question McCoy didn't know that answer to. How did you tell somebody else that the problem was your own father wanted to die and he wanted you to be the one to do it? How did you tell somebody else that it was not only that action but all the other burdens, secrets, lies that his father had shoved on him that haunted him? No, he wasn't okay but he couldn't say that, because then Jocelyn would want to know more—she would want explanations and they were the one thing he couldn't give.


	3. Chapter 3

He knew what had changed his mind. It would have been better to say it was his father requests now turned to desperate pleas. He could have said it was because medically there was no hope. But mostly when he mixed the drugs together he wasn't doing this for his father…he was doing it for himself.

There was no magical cure coming, things were getting worse. The disease was ravaging his father. The disease was ravaging his own life and most of all the disease was ravaging Leonard McCoy.

He wanted the worry to be gone. He wanted a chance to fix things in his life and his marriage….he wanted to close the door on the years of lies and pain that David McCoy now represented.

The hospital room was darkened. It was late night; most of the staff knew him and didn't stop him even though it was long past visiting hours. One or two gave him an askance look at his wet clothes but the expression on his face had an possible reprimands turning to expressions of pity.

Rain was still spattering the windows outside and lightning flashed by the windows, briefly illuminating the dim halls.

A nurse was leaving just as he was entering the room. McCoy didn't answer the man's murmured greeting. He couldn't afford to stop, he couldn't afford to lose his resolve.

And yet he wanted to do all those things.

He slipped in and his father opened his eyes like he was somehow sensing his presence. David McCoy's body was a wasted wreck of what it had been. His eyes were sunken and almost vacant. He was too far gone now to speak but McCoy saw him mouth words. Somehow, McCoy knew even through a failing memory and periods of confusion his father was aware he was finally getting what had become his one plea.

Kill me.

McCoy heard the whispered words in his memory.

His hands were shaking as he pulled the hypo from his pocket. Mentally he was cataloguing the medications he had mixed. It was something cold and clinical to take his mind off the moment…and it didn't work. All he could think about was how he loved and hated the man before him. The times he had spent with him , the inscription in the back of the first medical textbook he had ever got, his college graduation, the disappointment in his eyes, the criticising remarks, it was all there a tableau of mixed emotions.

Colours swirled in the transparent cartridge and he smelled the faint odour of the medicines—now poisons he had created.

He pressed the cartridge to his father's neck and heard the slight hiss as the liquid slid into tissues and veins. His father breathed and McCoy imagined he could make out a whispered. "Thank you."

McCoy dropped the hypo from his hands and grabbed his father's in his own. He watched the eyes widen and meet his. He listened as breathing thinned and then stopped and he watched his father spasm in a final death throe.

Tears were dropping down his cheeks but he had just enough presence of mind to pick up the hypo from where it had fallen. Then staff was rushing in the room.

McCoy let them try to revive him…it would have been a giveaway if he hadn't. Their efforts would be futile David McCoy was already long gone. Physician assisted suicide wasn't necessarily illegal in most places like it had been in past centuries. But he didn't have the proper documents filled out and without those what he had just done was technically murder. All he had was his word that this was what his father wanted.

Still no one would ever know what had happened. It was their secret…no, it was his secret. There was no reason to conduct an autopsy. David McCoy would die as he had lived without regards for what his actions caused.

McCoy told the staff to stop after a few minutes…they left him alone.

His father looked almost peaceful now, McCoy held his hands as they slowly grew cold and stiffened.

There was no one to witness the tears streaming down his cheeks or the whispered curses he heaped upon the prostrate body.

XXXX XXXX

He told his mother , who was thankfully staying with his sister over the weekend. She was sad and blaming herself for not being their. McCoy consoled her as best he could…he couldn't tell her the truth that his father preferred to die—to be killed without anyone the wiser.

The lies felt thick on his tongue as he answered his sister's questions about what complication had possible caused the inevitable death. It took all his convincing for them to not to come back to tonight. After all there was nothing they could do. But the real reason was he didn't think he could stand to see them face to face and tell the story he and his father had already agreed upon.

He knew he should go home, back to Jocelyn and Joanna. But he didn't want fights or yelling. He just wanted to forget it all. The bottle of Whiskey he had stashed in his airskimmer wasn't enough…he bought a second and drank most of both bottles. He was too drunk to drive and too miserable to care that it was still raining as he walked the few miles back home.

By the time he got there, he was chilled to the bone.

The house was quiet. Jocelyn was still up in bed reading. She glanced up as he walked in. Her saw her noise wrinkle as he knew she smelled the strong liquor that he had tried to forget himself in. He dropped his jacket off, it slithered down the chair he had laid it on and landed on the floor limply. He didn't bother to pick it up.

He simply stood there and stared straight ahead. He heard Jocelyn ask him something but he didn't answer, the words were unimportant. He couldn't believe what he had done and yet he couldn't forget. The spent hypo cartridges dug into his side from his pants pockets like a knife carving a brand into a murderer. He slipped a hand in his pocket and fingered one of the warm plexy canisters. Jocelyn was standing in front of him, but he moved past her ignoring her protests. He had to get rid of the hypocatrdiges. The feel of them in his hands made him feel unclean

He walked to the bathroom adjoining their bedroom and tossed the cartridges in the toilet, he watched as they swirled away. Still the unclean feeling persisted, his mind pulled him back to that final gasp as the medication had taken effect and the way his father had locked eyes with him one last time before they closed forever.

As he saw the eyes glazing over in his mind, his stomach churned as he remembered how he had been responsible. He remembered consoling his mother and sister and he had been the reason they were crying. He gagged at the memory bringing up little more than alcohol and bile. He straightened up and turned on the water. He stared at himself in the mirror and he couldn't bear the sight of himself. Instead he busied himself with rinsing his hands, rinsing the blood from his skin where he had broken it on his knuckles fruitlessly hitting a wall.

He twisted the water to as hot as it would go, washing and rewashing his hands until they were bright red and the water was cool. He heard Jocelyn knocking on the door and asking was he all right and finally he opened the door. She spoke again and he answered her. He was sure he did but whatever he said only caused her more alarm. He crossed to the cradle where Joanna was sleeping and stared down at his child. He thought of what she would be like in a few years, first bikes, fishing trips, family gatherings, trips to the park. He thought about all the things he would teach her , all the things he would tell her. A feeling of coldness swept over him as he thought of all the things he could never tell her. How would she look at him if he knew what he had done to his own father.

Jocelyn was still talking,. "He's dead." McCoy blurted out, the words just fell from his lips so cold, so impersonal, so unfeeling.

"What?" Jocelyn said , startled by his abrupt harsh tone.

"He's dead. My-my father's dead." McCoy finally turned to face Jocelyn. He saw the shock in her eyes.

"But from what, I –I thought they said he had a few more months."

McCoy felt numb as he spoke the lie that was now the truth, that he had to pretend was the truth. "His heart stopped."

Jocelyn was silent then he felt her hand on his face. "Oh, Len. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay . He-he wanted to go." McCoy found himself saying. And you helped him along. McCoy shook his head to banish the thought.

Jocelyn as startled by his words, but he saw her rearrange her features so the shock didn't show. McCoy dropped into a chair and put his head in his hands. He couldn't forget what he had done that night. He was only able to remain sitting for a few seconds before the inactivity became too much. He stood and began pacing. Jocelyn watching him for several moments. McCoy paused as he passed their bed again. "He wanted to die. He wanted to die." He repeated the words like they would absolve him of some of the guilt he felt, but they didn't.

He saw a flicker of worry flash through Jocelyn's eyes then she was standing, next to him. He felt her lay her head against his chest as she whispered. "Len, it's okay. He was in a lot of pain, it's okay. It was his time."

McCoy stiffened at her words, he felt disgusted with himself. Jocelyn had moved closer he felt her lips gently brush his as she kissed him. At first he didn't respond, Jocelyn began to move away, but he pulled her back. He kissed her harshly, his hands were gripping her tightly like she was an anchor. He smelled her perfume and tasted a cinnamon flavour, mixed with the sour alcohol her had drank.

"Light's 5 percent." Jocelyn whispered drawing away from him momentarily.

McCoy was grateful for the dark, it hid the moisture he felt creeping to his eyes. He lay back, his breathing was harsh and tears trickled down his face silently in the dark. He heard Jocelyn move closer and then he felt her arms wrapped around him, he buried his face in her shoulder. Her hands slowly stroked his hair back and neither of them spoke as the night slowly passed.

XXXX XXXX

A few weeks later.

McCoy had finished his sixth surgery for that day and unless there were any emergencies he was done. He retired to the mess hall to grab some lunch before he went and finished up his work in the clinic for the rest of the day. In between half-heartedly munching on his sandwich and burning his tongue on too-hot coffee he alternately reviewed his patient list and watched a newsfeed on cafeteria Holo monitor. As he was finishing up his lunch a voice said " Hey, Leonard."

McCoy glanced up just in time to see a small balding man set a tray down at his table. "Hi, Abraham." Abraham Giesel was a neurologist , and known throughout the hospital as one of the seemingly happiest people. The neurologist had taken it upon himself to try to cheer McCoy up after his father had died. Only his methods weren't working and no matter how many times McCoy tried to get the man to leave him alone he still persisted. But there was no way to tell him that t wasn't just grief that was eating away at him, it was guilt. A larger part of McCoy felt relieved that his father was no longer suffering but the other part was still reeling with nightmares and memories of what he had done.

"So I was thinking how about me and my wife and you and Jocelyn go out together, maybe a Holo or something and dinner, like a uh—couples date."

With difficulty McCoy focused on the present and picked up the thread of the conversation. " You know, today really isn't a good day." McCoy started to gather his tray. "I have a lot of cases left to review and then some hours to fill in at the clinic and—"

Giesel leaned forward. "Len, cut the cap, you've been trying to avoid me for the past few weeks and I'm not having it. You can't shut yourself up, it's not healthy , come out live a little it's what your dad would want."

McCoy was spared from answering by "Giesel, did you hear what's happened?"

The neurologist turned around catching the eye of the passing surgeon. "What's happened?"

"They've found a cure for one of those fatal neurodiseases"

"Which one?"

"Uh, pyrr—I can't remember the exact name, but it's probably all across the news." The man paused and glanced at the chronometer on the wall. "Damn, I have an appointment in ten minutes...but check it out. It's pretty amazing."

Giesel turned back to McCoy as the surgeon walked off. "Their always coming up with something new, you see this is a perfect example of why we both need to take some time off work, we're missing stuf."

'I'm not missing—"

"Okay, maybe not you Len, but I'm a neurologist , and when I have to hear about my craft from that guy whose three crystals away from warp drive, then that's a problem." Geisel reached across and grabbed a remote flicking on a Holomonotor on a nearby wall as he talked. A few seconds of searching through channels brought up a news feed. McCoy and Geisel both fell silent as they watched the reporter on screen.

Today medical history has been made, yet again. A cure has been found for one of the most debilitating and painful neurological disease ever known to te human species. In a laboratory whose whereabouts are currently being kept under wraps the chemical compound to entirely reverse the disease process has been found It's still in its preliminary stages but thus far at least five people's disease processes have been entirely reversed. Thousands of terminal patients with months to live can now look to be cured in days and live out the rest of their life.

For the public it's being mentioned as a miracle for the scientists who created it they say it's only a collection of molecules, but for suffers of the disease it' s a new chance at life.

So what is the disease? The crippling and fatal condition called pyrroneurits. This illness can now be entirely reversed within just a few treatments. Leading to…"

The rest of the words faded away. McCoy couldn't bear to stare at the screen, the news anchor's words continued repeating themselves.

And live out the rest of their life.

It was like the punch line to a sick joke. A joke which started with how he had killed—murdered his own father.

"That's pretty amazing, I mean I heard they were working on something like this but, this is –"

McCoy drifted back away, letting Giesel word's fade back into the background. Why hadn't he waited, just a little longer? Why had he given in? His father was right he was weak.

Maybe it had all been some kind of cosmic test. A test to see if he could hold out to see if he could hold on…But he was Leonard McCoy. He went with the easy option he gave in and that was why his own father was dead at his hands.

He stood up from the table. His tray slid off the table and his chair slammed back. The rest of the cafeteria's patrons were staring. He could see the accusation in their eyes. His secret felt like it was laid bare for all to see.

"Len, what's—"

McCoy didn't answer. He couldn't answer. All he could think of was what he had done. Somehow he managed to make it out the cafeteria. His legs felt like lead as he almost ran out.

The bathroom nearest the cafeteria was empty and gratefully he barricaded himself in.

He had killed him.

His own father.

And it had all been unnecessary.

Just another screw up

Just another failure.

XXXX XXXX

Work hadn't gone well. The entire day he couldn't concentrate. During a routine non-invasive procedure he had screwed up—not bad enough to be fatal thank god—but enough that the senior physician had noticed and dressed him down afterwards.

Now he was coming home several hours and several bottles later. Drunk was an understatement. The liquor hadn't dulled the guilt he felt instead hit had only enhanced the anger he felt. He was an angry at his father for all that he had made him do over the years, he was angry at himself for always being a failure...he was angry at the whole God—Damn world.

Nothing he ever did was good enough.

When he got home Jocelyn was in rare form. He could read the anger etched in her face before she even opened her mouth. They had moved into their own place since his father had died. It was in some ways both good and bad. They had more privacy and more room but since the move Jocelyn had taken the opportunity to chastise him without having to worry about waking someone else up and bringing them into the argument.

"You're seven fucking hours late." Her voice was cold and her eyes were even colder but he couldn't bring himself to care. It seemed like lately she was always angry and there was nothing he could say or do to change that.

He started towards the stairs not even bothering to tell her to quiet down, Joanna had learned to sleep through the commotion that seemed to happen at least every other day.

"Don't have anything to say? Not going to give me an excuse about how you were working late or everything was so busy?"

McCoy turned at sarcastic tones, normally he would have been able to brush it all off but after all that had happened that day coming home to her was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.

"What the hell do you want me to say? You don't give a shit what I tell you anyway"

"Maybe that's because you're a goddamn liar."

"What the hell have I lied to you about!"

"Everything, you married me under false pretences. I didn't sign up to be some pie in the sky housewife...I wanted a career , a life, not spending time looking after your kid and wasting the best years of my life while you get to be—"

"So Joanna is just my kid now? You're her mother and—"

"Don't feed me that bullshit. You wanted a kid you got her. Now you don't spend any time with either of us. What you want you get and then you don't give a shit about it."

"That's not true—"

"That's not true? Really look around. I spent the past few years helping you with your career, your goals, your father and what the hell have you done for me."

McCoy opened his mouth then shut it and Jocelyn pounced on his momentary speechlessness.

"You're a very selfish, selfish man Leonard McCoy. You're probably happy your dad is dead, more time to focus on your career and yourself."

He felt the colour drain from his face but Jocelyn stalked closer her words dripping with anger and spite. She's hurt and she wants him to hurt too. Only she doesn't get that he already does.

"You want stuff when you want it, how you want it...and if it's not like that then you can't deal. You've already decided you don't give a shit about me or this sham of a marriage." Jocelyn was pale with rage as she spat the words. "How long until you decide your precious daughter isn't what you wanted? How long until you walk away from all this to do what you want to do?"

He didn't know what to say and a part of him knew that whatever he said Jocelyn would never be happy.

The seconds stretched and the ugly expression on her face grew.

He didn't see it coming but he felt the sting as he hand flashed out catching him across the cheek .

"Answer me damn it!"

She went to hit him again and something snapped.

He caught her wrist and instead of just immobilizing her he pushed her back, slamming her hard against the wall.

She looked dazed for a moment but then straightened up. Blood was trickling from where she bit her lip and her eyes were sparking with fury. "You fucking bastard."

He wanted to say what happened next was just self defence but it wasn't. It was an actual desire to hurt someone else like he was hurting and apparently Jocelyn felt the same.

There was screaming, punches, scratching, slaps.

Joanna was crying somewhere in the background when they finally broke apart and McCoy wasn't even sure why they finally stopped when they did.

Jocelyn had a black eye, bruising around on her face and neck and a thick trickle of blood from a badly split lip.

McCoy could feel a long scratch down one cheek, three of his fingers were dislocated and his nose was broken.

He and Jocelyn stared at each other, Joanna's cries didn't seem to register.

"I hate you."

Jocelyn spat the words with tears streaming down her face. She swallowed, tried and failed to compose herself as she added. "and you hate me."

She walked out the house and he didn't even try to stop her.

A few days later she came back...and things started up again. He never laid a hand on her after that first and last time. Even when she didn't show the same restraint; instead, he yelled, threw stuff, drank more and more. Their every interaction was toxic and he didn't know how to stop.

It became easier like it's always had been to just ignore the problem until he couldn't anymore. So that's what he did. He drank long into the night and worked even longer. He let him and Jocelyn grow apart and pretended the distance fixed everything.

It was easier later to act like it did ...until it didn't.

When Jocelyn walked away for the last time leaving him and Joanna he wasn't, surprised...after all she was just doing something he'd always done, took the easy way and pretended he could leave his problems behind too.

* * *

 _ **Thanks for reading.** In this fic McCoy is about 24-25. I think the catalyst for his divorce and his subsequent alcoholism was his father dying and what that entailed for him. I played with the timeline of the events somewhat from canon in TOS._

 _Also PAS is the abbreviation I created for physician assisted suicide._


End file.
